Brothers
by montez
Summary: Most brothers will do anything for one another. As adults Mycroft and Sherlock have a strained relationship, but there was a time when Mycroft was willing to do anything to protect his brother, even following him into death.
1. Chapter 1

Brothers

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the DVD's, The BBC owns the rights to another brilliant English program.

 _A/N: I am ever amazed by the continued amazing television programs from the BBC. Doctor Who, Broadchurch, and now I have discovered Sherlock. Why can't American television be this good? That being said, I have recently discovered this show, though I know it has been around a few years, I finally took the plunge and watched it on Netflixs. I LOVE IT!_  
 _Yes Benedict Cumberbach is amazing as Sherlock, but personally I have fallen in love with Martin Freeman as John Watson. That being said my first go into the world of Sherlock is going to be a Mycroft-Sherlock brother fic. A story that will focus on when they were children. As with some of my stories in other fandoms it was an image that flashed in my head that I couldn't shake so this story is built around that image (which won't appear until chapter 3 I believe)._  
 _I noticed somewhere that it was said Mycroft was seven years older than Sherlock, so I am going with that. I have no idea their parent's names so I created my own names for them and own characteristics. I have no knowledge of anything Sherlock really beyond the television program (been meaning to read a few of the books, but can never find the time). So if anything is terribly wrong I apologize in advance._  
 _Mentions of labeling children with special needs in used, but please understand I have the upmost respect and love for these unique children. I have personally worked with these brilliant children and have always learned so much more from them then I could ever hope to teach them, they are truly gifts._  
 _Okay, enough said, I hope you will take the time to read this chapter and let me know if I should post additional chapters or just pull it and go back to watching Sherlock. My story is nearly complete, but I thought I'd test the waters with a first chapter, ENJOY!-Montez_

Chapter 1

Mycroft knew from an early age he was not like other people, but he learned to hide it behind charm. The neighbors near the family estate would comment on how courteous and well-mannered he was as a teenager, so vastly different from the typical teenagers from wealthy families who believed the wealth their family held allowed for them to do as they pleased without consequence. When in town he could be seen helping elderly widowed women with groceries, or small, inconsequential errands, he was well-liked. His teachers, from his earliest nursery school teachers to his current boarding school teachers noted his exceptional intelligence, but marveled at his ability to not be overt with it. He made a point of not making others feel less intelligent than himself, he would even offer to tutor students who struggled in subjects that he had mastered, that being nearly every subject available. He was active in the school's student government and was seen as a very strategic thinker. One who could defuse a hostile situation with a level head, a calm voice, and from every person involved's point of view. People knew this Holmes boy was going places, would be an important man someday.

Mycroft was seven when his younger brother, Sherlock was born. The elder Holmes boy never understood his parent fondness for unique names, other than perhaps they somehow knew just how 'unique' their children would become. Mycroft had not been impressed with the smallish, smelly, noisy thing his parents introduced him to that fall day, little did he know he would grow to be the one person that would fully understand the inner workings of that small mind. Ever insightful the older boy noticed early on that his baby brother was 'different'. By six months of age Sherlock had all but stopped making any sound what so ever; no crying, no babbling, no cooing, nothing. This development distressed his parents as they began taking their youngest child to every specialist their vast wealth could afford them.

Physically the child was healthy, if on the small side of average for infants his age. His hearing was good, his vision seemed fine, but the small boy remained quiet. As he grew older he could be found staring at what others assumed was nothing, but Mycroft felt something stir inside him as he observed his little brother becoming a toddler. Being only a child himself, he had no idea how to make his parents see, to understand, so he had to wait and observe, being patient was a virtue to which he excelled.

As Sherlock grew his parents concern increased, the child never spoke, barely interacted with those around him, and would sit for hours just staring out the window. Mycroft began to hear the whispers among the staff about his 'poor' brother, the child being 'obviously mentally challenged', it being 'terrible that such a condition could occur in such an upstanding family'. Mycroft would just glare at those individuals, who at first would just offer him 'pitied' looks. They soon learned to be careful what they said around the elder son, for as courteous and well-mannered as Mycroft could be, he had a very vengeful side with regards to those who seemed to view his brother in an unfavorable light.

By the time Sherlock was five-years old, he had been enrolled in nursery school, his parents hoping that being around children his own age would 'spark' something. Many commented on how well behaved the small child was, considering his 'issues'. Mycroft was pleased to see the majority of Sherlock's teachers, early on at least, seemed protective of the smallish boy with near porcelain skin, pale blue-grey eyes, and a halo of dark, unruly-curls. 'Angelic' Mycroft had heard several people say with regards to how his brother looked, and though the elder Holmes boy never really put much thought into 'unrealistic' beings, he could see how others could see the perceived resemblance. It was around this age the young Sherlock started to finally explore the world outside the four walls of the estate. He would wonder the garden, squatting for ages staring at things only he could see. Mycroft would watch from his window as his brother walked at a pace so different from the normal world of a five-year old. He had begun to realize a couple years ago that there was an extremely sharp intelligence behind those pale-eyes, an intelligence that was far beyond that of the toddler he was, an intelligence, if Mycroft was honest with himself, could in fact supersede his own. He had grown to realize his brother wasn't just 'staring off' when he would sit for hours on end without moving, he was observing.

The doctors were still at a loss as to how to label the youngest Holmes child, the words like Autism, and savant were thrown around, especially when the child would eventually cooperate with their testing, which Mycroft found amusing. His five-year old brother could outlast any adult in a battle of wills just by sitting and starting at the person. It unnerved several of the administrators who would finally just leave the room only to return ten- or fifteen minutes later to find Sherlock had completed their test or puzzle in record time. Their parents understood the intelligence was there, but were worried their youngest child would never be able to apply that gift outside his own little world. Mycroft would hear them talking about the care of the youngest Holmes, how he may never be able to function on his own.

One night the eldest son found his younger brother standing outside their parent's room, strained voices could be heard whispering through the door about how the young child was 'broken' and 'unable to care for himself'. That was the first time since Sherlock had been an infant that Mycroft saw tears in the young child's eyes and it nearly broke the older boy. Mycroft knelt next to the small child who had such a look of lost desperation that a flare of anger rushed through the older boy at his parent's inability to really 'see' their son. It was then, looking at his five-year old brother, in his slightly too-big pajamas, his dark-hair as unruly as ever, that Mycroft, being all of twelve-years old himself, knew he would do whatever was necessary to take care of his younger brother. Even if others could not see the intelligence trying so desperately to burst from those blue-gray, tear-filled eyes, he did and he would help his brother find a way to release it for the world to see.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft whispered beside the child, who wordlessly turned, staring into his older brother's darker eyes. The pleading there was heartbreaking and Mycroft felt the unfamiliar sting of tears in his own eyes as the small child launched himself into his brother's arms, clinging as if his life depended on it.

Never a tactile child himself it took Mycroft a moment, but an instinct finally took over. The instinct to protect this small shaking figure clinging to him like a barnacle to a ship. The elder brother closed his arms around his much smaller, younger brother, "I've got you" he whispered into the dark curls as he carried the child back to his own room. It was the first time in his life that Mycroft slept on the floor, his brother curled impossibly small on the edge of his large bed. Soft hiccups could be heard, the child desperately clinging to his older brother's hand. A barely there whisper drew Mycroft's attention to the sleepy eyes looking at him, "promise?" It had been the first word his brother had ever uttered, his lithe voice so soft.

Mycroft reached the hand the child wasn't holding up to the mop of near-black hair, smoothing it, "I promise you little brother, I will always be there for you…always". It was with a first ever hint of a smile that graced the small face that Mycroft realized he was the first person who had ever promised to accept his brother as he was, quiet-brilliance and all. He watched as the smile faded, as those brilliant, tear-filled, exhausted eyes slowly closed, the small child's body finally giving in to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Brothers

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the DVD's, The BBC owns the rights to another brilliant English program.

Chapter 2

Six-months had passed since that night in the hallway, Sherlock would now sneak into his brother's room when the older boy was home from boarding school and talk with him. Mycroft was the only person the now six-year old ever spoke to, as if he couldn't be bothered with dealing with anyone else, even his parents. Over those times the older Holmes became extremely impressed with the observation his much younger brother would make. The child was still extremely small and far to pale compared to the normal school-age children in the small town the family estate was near, but his insight toward people was uncanny. Plus with Sherlock being, 'strange' according to many in the village, people overlooked the boy, thus allowing him to see more than anyone could possibly know. Like how he knew which stock boy at the local market was secretly stealing from the store, Mycroft had slipped an unsigned note to the store owner once Sherlock had told him about what he'd seen, within a couple weeks the stock boy was gone. Sherlock had also informed his brother how he had seen one of their own maids and their married neighbor out near the edge of the woods 'touching'. Mycroft knew the right people around the village to put a buzz in someone's ear and within a few months the maid had quit and their neighbor had suddenly been called to London on a long-term business trip.

"I think mummy and daddy are going to send me away." Sherlock's small voice echoed across his elder brother's room one, dreary day in March.

Mycroft looked up from his studying, he was home on an extended holiday, a teacher's outing had closed his boarding school for two-weeks. Crossing the room he sat next to the smaller child, who was staring out the window. "What makes you say something like that? I wasn't sent to boarding school until I was ten"

"I hear them at school…" the tiny voice trailed off, like his mind was desperately trying to process what he wanted to say. Mycroft somewhat confused with the switch in conversation from their parents to school.

"Hear who?" Mycroft hadn't heard anything lately around the village with regards to his brother, people seemed to just be accepting of the 'unusual' child.

"The other children, they avoid me, they call me names…James knocked me down on the playground calling me a 'freak'." Sherlock paused, looking at his brother, he saw anger in the older boy's eyes, "The teacher stopped him, but its true isn't it? I am a freak".

"Sherlock…" Mycroft was stopped when the smaller boy continued.

"Their parents whisper it too, even some of the teachers are starting to look at me differently…" a broken, tear-filled face turned toward Mycroft, "what is wrong with me?"

The older boy pulled his little brother into his lap, he was the only person allowed to comfort the child, the only person the child would speak to. "There is nothing wrong with you. Sherlock you have a gift that no one can understand and not understanding something frightens people. People like simple, you are not simply, you are the most complex person any of those people will ever meet and they don't know how to deal with that."

"You understand", Sherlock mumbled into his brother's shirt.

"I understand because I am like you, but different…" Mycroft was desperately trying to help his brother see his uniqueness, but knew the difficulty with making the six-year old understand. "You see the world so differently, in so much detail. You need to understand everything and so you observe, people are not use to six-year olds being so observant and their simple minds come up with cruel terms to label what they don't understand, because they think you don't understand."

"I understand everything they say…I want to scream at them…I want to hurt them like they make me hurt…I hurt here," Sherlock pointed to his chest, Mycroft knew his brother was a sensitive child, but the boy had no way of showing it, thus the continued mute state he exhibited around everyone except his brother. "Those words stay in my head…" the small child pulled at his hair, Mycroft quickly grabbing his hands, "I want them to stop…" the boy sobbed, curling into an impossible ball in his brother's lap. A couple of minutes passed, "I don't want to be sent away…I won't see you anymore if they send me away, please don't let them."

"I'll try and talk with them, but little brother…" Mycroft pulled back slightly so he could look down at his brother, the boy's blue-gray eyes, meeting darker ones, "you need to start talking to them, help them understand you. They don't even know about our talks, so they have no way of knowing how you feel, what you think, you have to teach them. Can you do that? Can you at least try?"

"Will it help?" Sherlock asked softly.

"It wouldn't hurt." Mycroft replied as his brother nodded, then returned to his seat near the window.

A few days passed, Mycroft was due to return to school in a couple days and he had yet to find time to speak to his parents, his mother had been engaged in her 'social' circles and his father was consumed with his work in the government. Finally one afternoon his parents were together for mid-afternoon tea, taking a deep breath the now thirteen-year old Mycroft pulled himself to his full height and walked purposefully into the sitting room.

It took a moment before his parents acknowledged him, his father speaking first, "Mycroft, are you ready to return to school? Exams are in a few weeks, I sincerely hope you have spent these last two weeks studying and not foolishly wasting your time." The Elder Mr. Holmes knew his son was brilliant, but ever feared the boy slipping to the ways of the other youths his age, so the stern comments were meant to keep the boy on his toes.

Mycroft cringed at his father's comment, the man was not the warmest individual. The eldest son had seen other father show affection to their sons, but that was never William Holmes's way. Mycroft had also noticed the extreme distance the older man placed between himself and his youngest son and secretly that had smoldered in the pit of the older boy's stomach. Knowing there could be serious repercussions for not directly answering his father Mycroft crossed the room and looked out the window, his hands behind his back, and his posture straight as a board. Elizabeth Holmes picked up on her son's demeanor quickly, standing she took a step toward him, "Mycroft, what is bothering you?" she asked softly. Though slightly warmer than her husband toward her children, the strain of her youngest son's 'issues' had also caused her to start distancing herself from the child, and though his affection would always lean towards his mother, Mycroft felt a flare of anger toward her as well.

"Sherlock is afraid you are going to send him away." Mycroft said clearly, sounding far older than his teenage years, his face set in a stony expression not unlike that of a businessman in a high-stress board meeting.

Elizabeth and William glanced at one another before the elder Holmes stood, not thrilled with his son's tone of voice. "I suggest you watch your tone young man, and I don't see how it is any concern of your in regards to your brother's care."

"How do you know this?" Elizabeth asked, "He can't speak, he doesn't communicate…"

Again knowing hell was going to be paid for his perceived lack of respect toward his parents, but he felt he was the only one Sherlock had in his corner. "He has been talking to me for over six months. He has been hearing your 'conversations' with regards to his care and he is terrified."

"What do you mean he has been talking to you for six months? He can't talk…" William took a step toward his son, while Elizabeth placed her hand over her mouth.

"He chooses not to talk, there is a difference father." Mycroft didn't flinch as his father took a threatening step toward him.

Elizabeth's hand stayed his movement, "Mycroft? He has actually spoken? With words? How? He's…"

"He's what mother? Mentally challenged, broken, unable to take care of himself? He has heard it all, along with the things those 'people' in town and at his nursery school are saying about him…" Elizabeth looked as if she had been slapped by her eldest venomous tone.

"How?" She choked out, Mycroft's eyes drifted toward his father who was now pacing the room.

"Outside your door at night, he doesn't sleep well and so he wonders the house at night, I found him outside your door one night, he was in tears mother…" Mycroft stepped forward, his tone softening as his mother's eyes filled, "He thinks you believe he is broken, just like everyone else, they are calling him a freak at school, but he's not Mother…he's brilliant, if you just look at him…he wants to understand everything around him so he observes. He doesn't feel the need to talk when he knows no one else will understand what he is seeing, what he is feeling." He was desperate for his parents to see past view they have cultivated of their youngest child over his six-short years. He turned becoming more animated, "He's brilliant Mother, more brilliant than even I am…he sees so much more, his mind can understand so much more, but he is scared, he doesn't know how to express any of it without having other's looking at him like there is something wrong with him. I'm the only one who sees it and he knows that, that is why he will only talk to me, I accept him without judgement. I accept him in a way you are too afraid to try!"

The slap echoed around the room and nearly took Mycroft off his feet. He had never seen his father approach, his focus had been on his mother, finally seeing a spark of possible understanding in her eyes. However it was his father's angry face that filled his view now. "How dare you?" to his credit Mycroft straightened himself back up and didn't back away from his father. Sherlock was worth it, he needed his big brother to protect him, to support him and if it meant incurring the wrath of their father, fine.

Rubbing his face slightly Mycroft's eyes stared coldly back as his father, matching the older man's expression so completely that the elder Holmes nearly filtered, "How dare I what father? Try to make you see your son as something more than something to be pitied, ignored, and sent away because you can't be bothered to even try to understand him?" The second hit was expected, but the force much more as it was a closed fist as opposed to an open hand. This time Mycroft hit the floor, his lip splitting as pure hatred for his father shown in his expression.

"WILLIAM!" Elizabeth Holmes yelled as her son hit the floor, she quickly rushed to his side, "Mycroft?"

"MYCROFT!" A smaller, terrified voice rang for the doorway as everyone's eyes turned, taking in the small, trembling form of the youngest Holmes. The young boy was frozen, fear so clear in his eyes, he looked at those in the room, his eye's seeing the anger in his father's face, the worry and surprise in his mother's. Finally his eye's landed on his big brother, still sitting awkwardly on the floor, their mother kneeling next to him.

"It's all right Sherlock." Mycroft pushed himself to his feet, pushing past their parents, kneeling in front of the small child.

"Sherlock…" Neither child heard their mother's strangled whisper as she'd heard her youngest speak for the first time, she moved forward toward the door.

Mycroft saw his brother's eyes go wide with fear, his small frame taking a step back. Glancing over his shoulder, the older boy's voice as strong as ever, "No Mother…" His hand motioning for her to stop, ever grateful she complied.

"Sherlock, look at me…" Mycroft placed his hands on the smaller boy's thin shoulders, "It is all right Sherlock, look at me."

Wide, fearful blue-gray eye's meet the older boy's calm darker ones. The child tentatively reached his hand forward, his tiny fingers brushing against his brother's bleeding lip. The trembling increased in the child's smaller frame, his head began shaking back and forth before he backed away and ran down the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

Brothers

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the DVD's, The BBC owns the rights to another brilliant English program.

Chapter 3

Mycroft stood to follow, "Mycroft" His father's voice was close again, fully expecting another assault the older boy stood, his body taking a defensive posture, but the blow never came. An emotion he had never seen in his father's face was spilling forth, "I…"

Looking at both of his parents just looking at him, neither able to find the words to describe what had just happened, but a flash of the need to understand crossed both their faces as they looked from their eldest to where their youngest had just witnessed their confrontation. "Let me talk to him." Mycroft cleared his throat, taking the handkerchief from his pocket, whipping the dripping blood from his lip. "He's scared and he shuts down when he's scared."

"We didn't know," his mother finally whispered out, tears slipping from her eyes.

"Acceptance Mother, that's all Sherlock wants. He needs to know he's not viewed as broken, as a freak. He needs love Mother and until he feels he is receiving that he will choose to remain in his own world, shutting everything out." Turning, looking at his father, he gave the man a look that would one day cause the world's most powerful people to take a step back and question whom they were dealing with. "Father, I am the only person he has right now. The only one who understands him, who he feels cares for him. I am viewed by the world as still a child, though my mind is far beyond anything any adult can ever hope to achieve. You are a powerful man, yes, but understand me father…" Mycroft's expression had turned to granite, his eye's sending the threat that the elder Holmes felt in his soul he should heed, even coming from his teenage son, "you might strike me in anger because you will not see the truth in what I say with regards to my brother, but I promise you, if you ever think you can hurt Sherlock in any way, I can and will crush you. You may think me young and foolish, I AM the first, but don't think for a moment I am the latter, I have a way with people. Boarding school has broadened by exposure to some very influential people and I will not hesitate to ask for assistance in protecting my brother." Seeing a look of fear and understanding cross the older man's face, Mycroft left the sitting room, he needed to find his brother to make sure what had happened hadn't sent him back into the protective shell he had used to shield himself for five and a half years.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock ran, his legs had never moved so fast, his chest hurt, air-starved lungs working more than they had ever worked. Tears fell freely as the voices, and the images from the sitting room played over and over in his six-year old mind. His brother falling to the ground, the only person who loved him, who accepted him, had now been hurt because of him. The tinge of red still stained his finger tip, his brother's blood, drawn by their own father, because of him.

The cold air stung his damp cheeks, desperately tried to seize in his chest, but he had to get away, far away. If he got far enough Mycroft would be safe, their father would not hurt his brother again. Their mother would no longer look on him with pity, his father with contempt. They believed him too young to understand what those looks meant, only Mycroft fully understood the degree to which Sherlock understood the world around him. And now Mycroft had been hurt, he too would hate Sherlock now his small mind screamed at him. He was going to lose the only person he cared about, the only person that cared about him and his mind would not stop the images of his brother hitting the floor from repeating themselves as he ran. The woods swallowed up the small dark-haired child as he continued to run, branches snagging his clothing, tearing at his porcelain skin, but he felt nothing as his mind shut out the feelings and he ran.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Mycroft made his way to his room, expecting to find his brother either curled up on the bed, or in the window seat the smaller boy loved so much, "Sherlock?" the older boy called when he didn't readily find the younger boy, "Please Sherlock, don't shut me out." Under the bed, in the closet, behind the curtains, all were checked but no Sherlock. Perplexed Mycroft moved to his brother's own room, rarely used as the boy spent so much time in Mycroft's.

"Sherlock?" again the name echoed against the dark walls, all the usual placed checked and rechecked with no sign of the youngest Holmes. It was only when the six-year old's room came up empty that a spike of fear took root in Mycroft's soul. "Where are you little brother?" mythically he began searching ever room, cupboard and closet on the upstairs floor and found nothing. The fear that had taken hold was in full control when Mycroft burst back into the sitting room an hour later, "I CAN'T FIND HIM!"

"Mycroft…" both parents stood from where it appeared they had been talking since the incident earlier, "What do you mean?" their father asked, stepping toward his distraught eldest.

"Sherlock…I can usually find him when he's upset, I know his hiding places, all of them…" Mycroft was pacing now, his hands scrubbing his face, rubbing through his hair. "But I can't find him, I don't know… oh God…" Mycroft doubled over, his breath hitching in chest from a fear he had never felt before, "I have to…" His pacing increased to a frantic pace, "I have to find him, I have to take care of him, he needs me, and I…"

"Mycroft!" His father's hands were on his shoulders, stopping the frantic movement, "Where have you looked?"

Taking a breath, seeing genuine concern in his father's eyes he focused, "Upstairs, I have searched all of upstairs."

"Okay," William said as he stepped to the door, "JOSEPH!"

Within moments their butler arrived at the door, "Sir?"

"Have you seen Sherlock anywhere in the last hour?" William looked at the man while Elizabeth attempted to keep herself and eldest son calm.

"No sir, he ran down the entrance hall a while ago, but I haven't seen him since then. Is everything all right, Sir?" Joseph could see the tension radiating off his employer.

"Gather the staff, we need to search the house, the grounds, Sherlock's missing. If we haven't found him in the next thirty minutes contact the constable in the village, we will need additional help if the search is expanded." William ordered, the man leaving immediately to comply with the elder Holmes wishes. "Elizabeth, you stay inside, help search the house, Mycroft you and I will start searching the grounds. He has to be here somewhere." William left the room to retrieve his coat.

Mycroft moved to follow but was stopped by his mother's hand, turning to face her tear-stained face, he felt her warm hand lay against his bruised cheek, "You find him Mycroft, he needs you, you find him." Her voice cracked as the implications of what was happening began sinking in.

Placing his hand over hers, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, "I will Mother, I will." With that Mycroft left the room, retrieving his coat he headed toward the garden, knowing how his brother loved the vast space, vowing silently to himself that he would not set foot inside the house again until he had his brother back with him.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

His mind had shut down, only the vision of his bleeding brother could be seen. He had ran until his body demanded he stop, then he walked. He had observed the woods from the windows of the house, noting the various animals that would occasionally emerge. The way the seasons changed the look of the forest. He knew spring was coming, the forest would soon be alive with new colors and new life, but winter still held a tenuous grip and the area was cold and barren. Even his six-year old mind could understand the comparison between his surrounding and the feeling inside his small body. His tiny arms were wrapped tightly around himself, the thin jumper and trousers doing little to stop the cold seeping into his skin, his body reacting to something his mind wasn't registering. A violent shiver shook him so hard he stumbled over the branch and leaf littered forest floor, the stumble sending him shoulder first into a tree. An involuntary cry escaping as he curled in on himself, eye's shut tightly against the pain. He could feel the tiredness in his body, but his mind refused to acknowledge it when after a few minutes he attempted to push himself up again. However his almost frail stature overruled his mind and he stumbled again, falling face first onto the cold, unforgiving ground. A cold wind blew as the child crawled toward the nearest tree, curling into the side blocking some of the wind. With his knees pulled up close, arms wrapped tightly around his legs the youngest Holmes buried his head against his knees, quiet sobs lost against the waning day.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

Mycroft had searched every conceivable place in and around the garden, his mind desperately trying to think like his scared six-year old brothers. Sherlock hide when he was scared and the look in the child's eyes had been terrified, a new emotion for the boy, "You would run…" Mycroft looked around, his mind playing all the possibilities of where his brother might run away to, his eye's finally landing on the wooded area at the far side of the estate. "Nonono…Sherlock…" his mind could visualize his tiny brother running toward the ultimate hiding spot as his legs moved forward of their own accord, speed increasing as the cold winds picked up. He knew it was only his mind playing the terrifying scenario out, but Mycroft could have sworn he heard a strangled sob echo on the wind as he ran head-long into the darkening forest.

The echoes of the voices calling his brother's name faded behind him as he went deeper into the woods. His heart was telling him his brother was in there, somewhere and he was terrified. Sherlock was so small for his age, in his panicked state he would not have grabbed a coat before venturing outside and the cold was biting through Mycroft's own woolen garment. Twilight was quickly approaching and the older boy knew if he did not find his brother soon, that brilliant mind that had so much to offer to an underserving world would forever be lost and that was not an acceptable outcome for Mycroft. His brother trusted him beyond anyone else, Sherlock had given him the privilege of beginning to understand that wonderfully, beautiful mind and the heart that lay beneath it and he would not, could not let him down. He would find his brother or die in these cold, darkening woods with him.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Darkness was settling over the impossibly small figure curled against a barren oak tree, the figure had not moved since his head had dropped to his knees, the dark hair and clothing allowing the child to nearly blend in with the darkening surroundings. A scurrying squirrel cautiously approached, its tiny nose sniffing the muddied trainers, then scampered on its way when the scent didn't peak its interest.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

A scurrying noise drew Mycroft's attention, he had no idea how long he had been in the forest. All he knew is he had never been so cold in his life and the cold in his soul was freezing his body from the inside out, he was losing Sherlock. With each passing second it was becoming overwhelmingly clear, the world his little brother so wanted to understand was going to steal him away, it's secrets forever safe from the brilliantly inquisitive mind of a six-year old genius. A scurrying caused the elder Holmes boy to slow, his sluggish mind turning in the direction the sound emanated, a flash of movement up a nearby tree registered in his mind as nothing but a squirrel; a stupid, mindless, fury rodent.

Just as he was going to refocus ahead a slight darkness against the gray surroundings drew his eyes to the base of the tree the squirrel just scampered up, "Sherlock…" He heard himself whisper, stumbling forward, adrenaline flooding his system as he neared the figure, a strangled cry escaping as the unmistakable mop of near-black curls registered in his mind, "SHERLOCK!" he yelled, crossing the short distance, his knees hitting the frozen ground next to the still figure, the shout of his name garnering no reaction.

"No…please, no…" Mycroft cried out as his shaking hands reached for the small figure before him. "Oh Sherlock, please…" touching the child Mycroft's mind went blank when his brother fell lifelessly toward his touch. The cold wind stung the tears that began cascading down the older boys face, "NO!" he screamed as he pulled the seemingly broken child into his arms. "Don't you dare…don't you dare give up now little brother, Please…" rocking for a moment with the cold form of his brother in his arms Mycroft wanting nothing more than to lay down next to the still form and follow him to wherever he had slipped away to. The child needed his protection and he would willingly leave this world to protect his little brother in the next.

A moment passed as Mycroft felt the crushing loss that he at first missed the faint whisper of air on his neck. He paused in his rocking, a spark of hope filtering through the agonizing despair of loss. Holding his own breath he felt the faintest movement of air before pulling his brother back, looking into the angelic face everyone commented on, though deathly cold to the touch, the miracle of a breath passed the nearly translucent lips. "Sherlock…" The name bubbled from the depth of the older boy's soul, "I've got you little brother, I've got you." Quickly shedding his coat, taking no notice of the little protection his dress shirt and pants offered, he quickly bundled the small boy into the body-warmed garment and quickly stood. Adjusting the incredible light weight in his arms, again whispering "I've got you" into the cold curls. Mycroft started back the way he had come, bearing the most precious of possessions the world would ever have, Sherlock Holmes.

The estate was in an uproar, villagers from all over had converged on the property, the desperate search for the youngest Holmes child had increased two-fold when the eldest seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth as well. Elizabeth was in hysterics, William was shouting off orders to several men as the search area was needing expansion. But with darkness enveloping the grounds, many of the officials were debating how to tell the older couple that any further searching would have to be put off until daylight. Each of those officials knowing that with the cold the night was bringing, they may very well be condemning both of the Holmes children to a certain death.

Bone fires and electric lights had been set up around the estate, several with makeshift tables set up to coordinate the search efforts, but with night falling the searchers were moving back toward the main house. A few local trackers, who had only arrived an hour before and had been unable to really establish a clear trail, were packing up from near the woods they planned on heading in at first light. Just as they turned to head to the main staging area movement along the tree-line caught their attention. "Get the lights up now!" one shouted as others close by flooded the area with lights, "THERE!" another man shouted, taking off toward the stumbling figure, "THEY'RE HERE!"

Increased shouting drew attention to the back of the estate, William took off at a run with the men around him. The sight that greeted him as he neared the brightly illuminated area would forever haunt his nightmares. Mycroft was stumbling toward them, several men had surrounded the teenager, but the boy refused to stop for them, not allowing them to remove the bundle in his arms. "Oh my God," William whispered at the sight. Though he could not see what his eldest was so desperately holding on to, he knew in his heart it was his youngest. "MYCROFT!" the older man shouted as he ran toward his son. The strong, formidable young man who had fearlessly faced him down hours ago was reduced to the terrified, despondent teenager boy before him.

Haunted eyes met William's as Mycroft stumbled again, his body finally giving out at the sight of his father. The men around him catching the boys decent as William grabbed him from the front, the wool coat wrapped bundle now between them. "Please Father…save him…" the boy whispered as his eye's rolled back, his body going limp into the arms of those around him. William was left with the woolen bundle, his shaking hands fearful of what he would find when he unwrapped the coat, his breath caught as he barely heard the shouted pleas for medics called out across the estate. It was in the chaos surrounding him that William Holmes pulled back the folds of the tightly wrapped coat and took in the deathly pale face of his youngest child.


	4. Chapter 4

Brothers

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the DVD's, The BBC owns the rights to another brilliant English program.

 _A/N: Okay just to make it clear I know a medevac helicopter can be called in for anyone, not just wealthy, I just wanted to show that the children weren't even taken to the local clinic, just straight from the estate to London_.

Chapter 4

The wealth and position of the elder Holmes allowed for a medical evacuation helicopter to be called to the estate, both boys were airlifted to the best hospital in London, a second helicopter arrived to take William and Elizabeth as medical personal needed room to work on stabilizing the boys. Upon arrival the couple was escorted by the Chief of Staff to his private office. "I'm Dr. Erlington, please have a seat." The man motioned for the parent to take the small couch in the office as he turned one of the chairs from in front of his desk.

"How are they?" William asked feeling his wife's grip on his arm increase slightly.

It took a moment before the doctor began, it was never easy giving families destressing news, especially when the patients in question were children. Clearing his throat the physician began, "As you know both boys were brought in with signs of hypothermia, and numerous lacerations and contusions. Mycroft's condition, though concerning is much better than Sherlock's. Mycroft's core temperature upon arrival was 35 degrees, measures are being taken to slowly increase his body temperature, and currently he is stable. Upon arrival he regained consciousness and became extremely combative, we had to give him a very mild sedative out of fear he would injure himself." At the shocked, confused expression from the parent's before him the doctor elaborated, "It is not unusual for someone with hypothermia to experience a violent episode, that coupled with the fact he was yelling for his brother and attempting to get away from medical personal, we felt the course of action needed to be taken. He is being monitored closely"

It took William and Elizabeth a moment to absorb the news with regards to their eldest. Letting out a long breath the elder Holmes glanced at his wife, seeing the fear in her eyes and feeling it gripping his own chest, William asked the question he was almost afraid to have answered, "How…How is Sherlock?"

Though many years of practice had inevitably allowed Dr. Erlington to school his emotions when speaking with families, when it concerned young children he wasn't as good as he wished. "We are currently running test to gauge the severity of Sherlock's condition. You have to understand with young children hypothermia occurs far quicker and can be more severe. When Sherlock arrived his core temperature was 32 degrees, at this severe level complications arise quickly and upon arrival resuscitative measures were being performed…"

The Doctor was interrupted by Elizabeth's strangled cry, her hand quickly covering her mouth. "You mean…" William began, but needed to take a deep, shuttered breath, his sharp mind not really wanting to process the doctor's comment, "You mean his heart stopped?"

"With severe cases of hypothermia it is not uncommon for cardiac arrest to occur. The body is not designed to handle extreme temperatures, especially a small child's body. We were able to successfully restart his heart, but he has been placed on a respirator due to diminished respiratory function. He is being closely monitored in the intensive care unit. He is being given warm fluids as well as warmed oxygen. We have to go slowly in bringing his temperature back up to prevent another cardiac episode." Taking a moment to make sure the people across from him were still able to take in the additional information he needed to convey, he finally continued, "Though the hypothermia is our major concern the child also has a fractured collar bone, we assume at some point he fell and possible hit a tree or large branch. The rest of his injuries consist of minor lacerations, especially to his face and contusions from the falls he appears to have taken." Taking a deep breath, knowing there was a more distressing concern, on top of the nearly unimaginable condition the boy was in. Dr. Erlington needed Mr. and Mrs. Holmes to understand the grave concern the medical staff had in regards to the youngest Holmes child. "Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, please understand the condition you son is in is grave in unto itself, but these are all conditions we can be treat, however our biggest concern, is that that he has remained completely unresponsive to any external stimuli, at the moment Sherlock is in a coma."

Elizabeth lost all composure as the word echoed through the room, William quickly wrapping his arms around his wife, gently rocking her, his own emotions surfacing across his hardened exterior. "Oh God…" He whispered, closing his eyes for a moment, the image of the lifeless form bundled up in his brother's much larger coat filling the man's mind, causing his breath to hitch in his chest. This can't be happening, Mycroft had been begging them to understand the small boy, to see him for the child genius he was, that he was able to think, feel, and understand on a higher level than anyone gave the boy credit. William found himself recalling seeing his eldest stumbling across the grounds, pleading for his father to save his little brother.

William was a fool, Mycroft had been his pride, a brilliant, upstanding young man, who earlier today showed his father that he would stand up to whom ever needed to be stood up to have his brother accepted by those around him. Yet what had William done? He had lashed out and struck the boy, not once but twice. Never realizing until it was too late that his youngest son, a son whom he had shown little interest because of his 'issues' had witnessed the whole exchange. A young son that his older brother had desperately tried to get his parents to understand was not the empty shell so many assumed, themselves unfortunately included, but a child who understood far beyond his years, and in that moment of anger William Holmes had set into motion the events that had lead them to this moment. The echoes of the destressed cry filled his mind, the first word the parent's had ever heard escape the child's mouth and it had been his brother's name cried in fear. William shuttered at the thought, that it may very well be the only word they ever hear from the child.

Several minutes passed as the parents absorbed the news, attempting to come to terms with what the doctor had told them. Straightening slightly William's gaze finally met Dr. Erlington's, "Can we see our children?"

Standing the doctor motioned toward the door, "Mycroft has been moved to a private room. It will still be some time before Sherlock is settled enough to allow visitors. If you'll follow me." The doctor started down the hall toward the elevators.

Upon arriving at their eldest room, Elizabeth let out a small cry and William just stared. The young man that had seemed so very imposing just hours ago could not have looked more opposite. Though his hair was not as dark as his little brothers, Mycroft's shorter brown hair framed a frighteningly pale face. The boy was all but cocooned in an impossible layer of blankets, heart monitor beeping quietly in the corner, a nasal canal supplying warmed oxygen to help in raising his temperature to normal levels.

Elizabeth gently ran her hand through her eldest hair, leaning to kiss his forehead that was still cool to the touch. William finally approached, a shuttered breath escaping as reality finally hit the older man. After a few moments a nurse silently stepped into the room, Mycroft's vitals were being taken every fifteen minutes to keep a close eye on his body temperature and the possibility of any complications developing. With a small smile the young woman whispered that she would have another chair brought into the room before leaving, an orderly soon returning with said chair. William moved it so his wife could sit next to the bed, allowing her to continue holding the older boys hand as she had been doing over the last several minutes. William then wordlessly moved the other chair onto the opposite side. Steepling his fingers under his chin, looking at his son, remembering the deathly paleness of his youngest when Mycroft relinquished the boy to him, William began to think how he could possible repair the damage he had caused with regards to his children.

An hour passed with regular visits from the nurse before a doctor entered the room, "Mr. and Mrs. Holmes…" The young man waited as the couple stood, "I'm Doctor Graham, I have an update on Sherlock if you would mind stepping into the hall."


	5. Chapter 5

Brothers

Disclaimer: See Chapter one

Chapter 5

With a quick squeeze of her son's hand Elizabeth followed her husband and the young doctor from the dimly lit room, to the glaring brightness of the hallway. "How is he? How is Sherlock?" She spoke up before her husband. She dearly loved both of her children, but Mycroft had been an easy child. His incredible mind manifesting early allowing the family to arrange needed accommodations to guide his emerging genius. On top of that he had been a loving, considerate child, always trying to make other's feel comfortable around him, never allowing his obvious intellect to make other's feel inferior. The older boy had been seven when Elizabeth gave birth to her youngest son, she had been so thrilled to have another baby in the house. It had taken them years to conceive their eldest, so the second pregnancy was like a godsend to the couple who never thought another child would be possible. Everything had progressed normally for the first few months, Sherlock was a little on the small side as infants go, but appeared healthy. Mycroft at first hadn't been sure what to make of this new addition to their family, but soon took to watching his little brother incessantly.

It was at around six months of age that the inclining that something may be wrong with Sherlock when for no explainable reason the child stopped making any noises what so ever, it was like a switch had been flipped and a mute button engaged. Physically he progressed, but with his silence came the frightening assumption that cognitively something was missing. Tests after tests were performed, but in the end the professionals were at a loss as to what was happening within the child's mind. Elizabeth noticed an increase vigilance by Mycroft over his little brother, but soon found herself pulling away from the small boy, who appeared to shun contact as he grew. The child would sit for hours staring out windows, watching the comings and goings of the house staff. Only when Mycroft was around did she notice any type of change in the younger child. He would watch his brother intently, always following the older boys movements with his eyes, never moving a muscle. For nearly six years he never made a sound, would comply with experts testing only when he was ready and alone, never when others were around. They were discovering an intelligence was there, but no one knew how to allow the child to express exactly what he knew, so it was decided that he would eventually need specialize care as it was believed he would never be able to function on his own. As a mother, the physical rejection of her child had nearly crushed Elizabeth, so to contain that pain, she too pulled away from him. However now, having recalled all Mycroft had tried to get them to understand before their world fell apart, she was determined to begin understanding her youngest, silently praying he would come back to her and allow her to enter his world as he had allowed his brother.

Dr. Graham motioned the couple to a quiet enclave a few meters from Mycroft's room. "Sherlock's condition is still grave, his body is warming slower than we would like and he is still unresponsive to external stimuli. He is being closely monitored to ensure we catch any possible complications early. I have ordered additional scans in a few hours to gauge his brain activity and to make sure there is no further damage to his heart. I'm sorry, I wish I had better news. Honestly right now it is a waiting game."

"Can we see him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Of course, the intensive care unit is the next floor up, if you'll follow me." Dr. Graham stood guiding the couple toward the elevators. William stopped at the nurses station, letting them know they were going upstairs and to contact them if there was any change in Mycroft's condition.

The short ride was silent, as was the walk through the ward of glass-enclosed cubicles before they arrived at the one closest the nurse's desk, "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask." The doctor relayed as he allowed the parents to enter on their own.

Upon entering Elizabeth's legs gave out, her husband's arms catching her, Dr. Graham and a nearby nurse rushing to assist. "Elizabeth…" William and the doctor had moved his wife toward the chair in the corner of the room.

The older woman's eyes were fixed on the bed, all else faded from her view, "oh God" she whispered as her breathing increased.

"Mrs. Holmes, can you hear me?" Dr. Graham asked as he turned her face, focusing on her eyes. The nurse moved to the side attaching a blood pressure cuff to the distraught mother.

"Elizabeth, please…" William squeezed his wife's hand as she took a deeper breath, her gaze briefly meeting the doctors before she looked toward her husband.

"What have we done?" She whispered, a new trail of tears slipping down her face.

"Her blood pressure is a bit low," Dr. Graham said, the nurse turning to get the older woman something to drink. "Just sit for a moment."

"No," her voice became a bit stronger with each deep breath she took in, "I need to see him." Her eyes quickly moving back to the form on the bed. With the help of both William and the doctor she made it to her feet, taking a moment to steady herself before crossing the few feet that separated her from her youngest. "Oh Sherlock."

Sherlock was a small child for his age, Elizabeth never dreamed her son could look as fragile as he did now, laying in a sterile hospital bed, a tube down his small throat causing a mechanical rise and fall of his tiny chest. "Sherlock, I am so sorry…" She said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over the slender frame of her baby boy.

The nurse returned with a small cup of water, handing it to William as the medical personal left the room, giving the parents a few uninterrupted minutes with their son. Several silent moments passed before Elizabeth sat up, glancing at her husband, who was standing on the other side of the bed. "We can't lose him now…" Her broken voice said softly, turning back, running her fingers through the dark curls that framed alabaster features that were far too delicate for a typical child. She had heard others refer to her son's appearance as 'angelic' before, but for the first time she could see the resemblance to the spiritual beings and silently began to pray that he would not be joining their numbers.

Several hours passed in a silence only broken by the soft beeping of a heart monitor and the muffled 'whoosh' of the respirator breathing for the small form on the bed. Sherlock's temperature was still rising slower than the doctor's would have liked, and he remained unresponsive to external stimuli, but everyone held on to the fact no further complications had arisen and the last scans and tests had remained unchanged, his condition was neither worsening, nor improving, just remaining constant.

The size of the bed had allowed Elizabeth to curl up next to her son, though his breathes were mechanical, his heartbeat was steady, but slow beneath her hand that nearly covered his entire chest. William watched his wife, she would whisper nursery rhythms and quietly sing lullaby to the unconscious child. The older man would occasionally step out to have the nurse check in with Mycroft's attending. His eldest temperature was back to normal, no complications were presenting themselves with regards to the older boy's recovery.

A half an hour after he had last checked on Mycroft's condition a nurse rushed into the room, "Mr. Holmes, they need you downstairs right away."

Elizabeth had raised up, fear flashing in her eyes, "Mycroft?" her voice broke on her eldest name.

"Stay here…" He told his wife as she moved to get up, before turning back to the nurse, "What's going on?" He asked following the younger woman.

"I'm not sure all they said is he was waking up and there was a problem and they needed you as soon as possible." The woman moved his toward the elevators.

He looked at the lift numbers, then the stairs door a few meters down the hall, "I'm taking the stairs" The older man said, disappearing though the door. His mind trying to prepare him for what he might find when he reached the older boys room.

 _A/N: Just want to take a second and thank those who have reviewed and are following my story, I was afraid to jump into the Sherlock universe but you all have given me the confidence to allow my imagination to wander in this eccentric playground-thank you-Montez_


	6. Chapter 6

Brothers

Disclaimer: See chapter one

Chapter 6

Whatever he was expecting, it was not seeing his son backed to the wall, IV stand held firmly in his hands, not allowing anyone near him, demanding to know where his brother was. The noise from the medical personal trying to get the situation under control without hurting the boy and Mycroft's demanding voice (so reminiscent of the voice used the day before in the sitting room) it sounded like an all-out brawl as William ran in the door, "MYCROFT!" William yelled entering.

Everyone froze at the sound of the older man's commanding tone, Mycroft's eyes, though heavily laden with obvious exhaustion, searched desperately for those he knew belonged to that voice. The nurses and orderlies parted as William fully came into the room, 'we don't want to have to sedate him again' was heard whispered in his direction as the older Holmes moved further into the room, fear and worry filling his soul at the sight of his son.

"Father?" Mycroft whispered, his eyes finally landing on those of his father. The IV pole lowered, the boy's posture seemed to deflate slightly, "Father please…" His eye's filled with tears, his body started to shake slightly as the pole slipped from his hands, "Where is my brother?" the boy took a stumbled step toward his father, "Where's Sherlock?" His legs finally giving out as he reached the man he had given his broken little brother to, the last image of the small boy's pale face and limp form flashing in the older boy's mind.

William lunged forward, catching his collapsing son, so like he had done the night before that it nearly broke his heart, the pleading eyes of the older boy begging for his brother. "I've got you son." The father said as the doctor moved in quickly to help move the boy back toward the bed.

"Where is he, please, is he?" Mycroft whispered plea contained more heartache and fear than William thought possible from another human, making it all the worse that it was his son reeling from those emotions.

Mycroft's hand was like a vice on his father's arm, not letting the man move back once he was back on the hospital bed. William reached up and placed his free hand on the older boys face, "Mycroft, Sherlock is upstairs, your mother is with him." The father had no way of how to tell his oldest son the condition of his younger brother, fearful that news at the moment could cause the boy additional mental and emotional anguish.

"He's alive?" Hope filled the boy's eyes as his voice cracked.

"Yes Mycroft he's alive, now please let the doctor examine you and when you are rested we may be able to arrange for you to visit with him." William knew he would have to discuss how his youngest grave condition may impact Mycroft's condition with the boy's doctor, but knew from the display upon his arrival in the room that the older boy would find his brother on his own if need be the first chance he could.

"Please I want to see him now, he needs me." Mycroft's drooping eyes begged his father as the doctor was working on assessing the boy, the nurse dealing with the bleeding spot where he had pulled the IV line out in an attempt to use the pole against the staff.

The older boy was clearly losing the battle his body was waging to pull him back to sleep. His condition and the loss of adrenaline from his fight response upon waking alone in an unfamiliar room without the one person he was so desperate to see caused all energy to flee, his eye's slipping shut against his will, "Rest son, please just rest now." William spoke softly, his hand slipping through the boy's hair.

Once he could see his son had succumbed, he raised up facing the doctor, fear and anger rushing through him, "What the hell was that? I thought he was being monitored closer than this." William scanned the room, the orderlies had moved toward the door, one nurse was adjusting the bedding over the prone boy, another was reestablishing a new IV line, while the doctor was finishing a vitals check.

The doctor stood to address the upset father, "With his overall condition improving, routine checks were moved to ever hour, all his monitors are linked at the nurse's station. The nurse responded as soon as an increase in his heartrate was detected, upon entering she found him trying to get up. When she was unable to get him to follow instructions she paged myself and additional help at which point he grabbed the pole and started swinging it demanding his brother. I recalled on his chart that he had been sedated upon arrival and did not wish to repeat that course, which is why we had you called. Mr. Holmes, your son's condition, though improved, and the situation that lead to that condition, coupled with the medication he was given previously is causing him to be extremely confused. His last memories appear to be of his brother in danger and his instincts are taking over and forcing his body to fight against its natural need to rest and heal. We had no way of knowing for sure when he would wake up or what condition he would be in upon awaking and considering the circumstances my staff handled the situation to the best of their ability knowing all this information. Now I am sorry if you think we have done something wrong, but be assured correct procedures were followed and your son's wellbeing was our first priority."

William stared at the doctor, he had never had anyone respond back to him in such a way, the man was obviously a good doctor to be working at this hospital, and it was clear he respected and took care of both the staff he worked with (proof of his defense of their response), but that he also cared about his patients (having obviously read his son's chart in more detail than a cursory glance of most physician when not the primary doctor). The elder Holmes had not gotten to his position in life by not acknowledging his mistakes, "I'm sorry…" William glanced toward the others before meeting the doctor's gaze, "So much has happened and I…" the older man's eyes went back to his sleeping son, a look a fear and brokenness overtook his expression that the doctor couldn't help but notice.

Looking up at the staff still in the room, the doctor motioned for them to leave with a subtle nod. Once they had left the physician moved around to stand next to the older man, "Mr. Holmes…" the doctor spoke softly, "I won't say I know what you are going through, because I don't, but as a father I know what it is like to constantly worry about your children and right now you are living every parent's worst nightmare. Your children are hurt and you feel powerless to stop the pain and guilty for not protecting them. Please understand and know they are being cared for to the best of our ability. From what I've have been told your son is the one who found his younger brother in dire condition, his mind is continuing to scream at him that his little brother needs his protection. When he woke up and did not see his brother his body reacted to what his mind was screaming at him. I could only wish my own children felt that protective of one another. Once Mycroft wakes again, he will be examined and it can then be determined how much you wish to tell him of his brother's condition and whether it would be beneficial for him to see his brother in the condition the child is in. I will instruct the nurses to go back to their fifteen minute checks, and I myself will check him regularly if you are not in the room."

The doctor's words faded, William had never dealt with a physician who attempted to be as compassionate and understanding as the man next to him. He, himself was a man who had little time for sentiment and wanted things as straightforward as possible. He didn't have time or need for platitudes, but something with how this doctor spoke gave him the impression that man would do what was best for his patients and the families, and for the first time since this terrible ordeal began William a since of hope. "Thank you." The older man whispered, glancing at the younger man, committing his caring eyes and confident posture to memory.

The doctor nodded, feeling he had giving some peace the father before him just from the calmer expression on the older man's face. "I'll be back in a bit."

The physician moved toward the door, Mr. Holmes's voice causing him to pause halfway out of the room, "I'm sorry doctor, I didn't get your name".

"Watson, Dr. Hamish Watson." The door silently closed behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Brothers

Disclaimer: See chapter one

Chapter 7

William decided he would stay downstairs with Mycroft until the older boy woke up again. He had asked Dr. Watson to go up and explain everything to Elizabeth, but felt it best he was in the room to avoid the chaotic episodes that had come in his son's previous waking moments. In the quiet that had settled in the room William began thinking about the physician who had been in the room, he was not the Holmes family doctor, William would have to inquire as to that man's whereabouts since anytime the family was in need of medical services he should be there. But this Dr. Watson…there was just something about the doctor's approach that William found intriguing. Maybe it was the fact the doctor wasn't intimated by him and wasn't afraid to stand up to him to defend his staff and patient. The elder Holmes would have to try and remember once whatever was happening within his family came to a conclusion to see if the doctor would be interested in becoming the family's primary physician.

It was a couple of hours, many visit's from the nurses and a few from Dr. Watson, before Mycroft began to stir from his exhaustive slumber. William moved from the chair next to his son's bed to the edge of the bed itself, "Mycroft?" the older man said softly, his hand reaching up to his son's face.

It took another moment before the darker gray eyes of his eldest opened and meet his, "Father?" for a moment Mycroft's brain felt muddled, sluggish like the time he had taken a cricket bat to the head at boarding school. "What happened?" William watched as the memories of before exploded back into his son's mind, the look of panic and fear radiating from the boy's face, "Sherlock…Oh God, where is he father? Is he safe? I need…" Firm hands stopped the older boy's frantic movement to try and get up from the bed.

"Mycroft, please son, you need to calm down." The increased heartrate quickly brought a nurse into the room. "Could you please page the doctor?" William addressed the young woman who quickly left the room to comply with the request. Turning his attention back to his distressed son William's voice took on a calming, but firm tone. "Mycroft I need you to calm down son, look at me…" He waited for his son's eyes to meet his, "Sherlock is upstairs, your mother is with him."

William's heart ached as he saw his son relax slightly, an almost relieved look crossing his face, "He's okay then, he was so cold and still, I thought…" Mycroft looked at his silent father, realization dawning on his normally sharp mind, "Father, he is all right isn't he? Please tell me he's okay?"

"Mycroft, you need to understand…" The door to the room opened as Mycroft's primary doctor entered the room, William ignored the man, focusing on his son, "Sherlock was outside for so long and the cold affects young children more than…"

A hard tone returned to Mycroft's voice as the cobwebs were clearing in his mind, his body feeling stronger than his previous waking moments. His father's words, his tone, suddenly made Mycroft angry, his father was trying to coddle him, his father was not a coddler, he was not one to give platitudes, and he was not one to really take other's feeling into consideration. "Don't coddle me father, my brother?"

"I see you are awake and are more coherent than before, I'm pleased to see this." The doctor started in a false-cheery voice, not taking in the tension in the room, stepping forward to attempt an examination, he was stopped by the cold, hard stare of the young man in the bed.

"Do not touch me." Mycroft's words were far harsher than should come out of a boy of his age. Looking back at his father, his eyes set in the hard glare he had used the previous day when trying to make his father understand the length he would go to protect his younger brother, "Take me to my brother." The tone, the look was one that would again serve the eldest Holmes boy well later in life as it was being perfected now.

William could tell by looking at his son that if he refused, Mycroft would go in search of his brother on his own, fighting his way out of the room if need be. Looking at the baffled doctor who had stopped a few feet from the bed the elder Holmes spoke, "Could you arrange a wheelchair for my son, we are visiting his brother." Being the Holmes family physician he knew to comply with their wishes or risk losing his position.

Once the doctor left the room William moved from the side of his son's bed, allowing Mycroft to ease himself to the edge, "Mycroft," William started, but was stopped when his son looked up at him.

"I need to see him father, explain everything afterwards, but I NEED to see him now." A nurse entering the room with a wheelchair broke the gaze between father and son as the young woman began clamping off the IV line and helping the teenager into the chair.

"I'll take it from here." William spoke, moving in behind. The trip from Mycroft's room to Sherlock's was silent, neither father nor son spoke a word. Mycroft lost in thoughts and fears for his brother, William cautiously watching his eldest battle with emotion the boy could scarcely contain. The father in him wanted to protect his son from what he was about to see, to somehow soften the blow of his brother's grave condition, "Mycroft."

But again the older man was cut off, "Please father." With a slight nod and the twist of fear, guilt, and anguish torturing his insides, William continued the few yards until he pushed his eldest son's wheelchair through the doorway of the his youngest small cubicle.

There were no words that Mycroft's mind could form to express how he felt when his father wheeled him into his little brother's hospital cubicle. His mind had literally gone blank, his breath caught in his throat, his heart shuttering at the image. Elizabeth had moved from the bed to the chair, standing when her husband and eldest son entered the room, "Mycroft" she whispered, but stopped her advancement with the shake of William's head. The older man had stopped the chair just inside the small enclosure, allowing his son to take in everything in the room, to wordlessly express the severity of Sherlock's condition.

Mycroft visibly paled upon entering, realizing the small form surrounded by blankets, wires, and tubes was actually his little brother. Pulling his eyes for just a moment the boy looked up at his father, William reading the question clear on his face, "Sherlock's in a coma" was all he said as a strangled sound escaped his eldest.

"I was too late." Mycroft whispered, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. Another moment of silence filled the room before the boy put his feet on the floor, his arms bracing on the armrest working to leverage himself up from his seated position. From the display early William knew it was fruitless to try and stop him. Closing his eye's a moment, taking a deep breath to help the room refocus, Mycroft slowly made his way toward his brother's bedside as the tears finally broke free.


	8. Chapter 8

Brothers

Disclaimer: See chapter one

Chapter 8

Sherlock's eyes slowly blinked open, his little body releasing a shiver as he quickly realized he was covered in a soft quilt. Running his tiny fingers over the material he noticed it was well-worn, and hand-made by the feel of the stitching. The patchwork design suggested scraps of material were used in its creation, some material looking more worn than others, thus made by someone who did not have the means to buy enough material for such a quilt, but desired to make it none the less. Moving his head slightly he noticed a flickering light in the corner, a small fire gave the room a warm glow, for a moment the boy felt himself smile slightly, an unfamiliar occurrence. The fireplaces in his family's home were large and ornamental and though watching how fire consumed the wood was something Sherlock was easily intrigued by, those large fires never seemed to give the same warmth this tiny fire did.

Slowly sitting up he observed he was on a thread-bare sofa in a messy, but cozy room. Two windows stood tall across from him with very little light shining through, 'must be nighttime' the young boy thought. Listening he found the crackle of the fire was all he heard as no one else was in the room with him, but somehow he wasn't scared, just curious as to where he was and how he had gotten there. The pull of the fire caused the small child to slip soundlessly from the sofa, wrapping the warm quilt around himself he slowly shuffled to the hearth and sat down. Watching the crackling flames dance over the darkened wood the young boy knew one day he would have to figure out how that happened, how fire could dance so eloquently across the charred surface, slowly consuming the material until it was nothing but cold, gray ash. 'Did other things burn the same way?' he wondered, the rest of the world fading around him as he stared into the fire.

Sherlock had no idea how long he sat there before a quiet noise drew his attention, "I see you're awake" a calm, quiet voice stated.

The small boy jumped slightly despite himself, pulling the quilt closer, he got to his feet, moving back a couple steps, "I was just watching the fire." At home he was scolded if he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, or was found to be somewhere he had no business being, which happened a lot since most people he was around ignored him because they thought something was wrong with him.

Noticing a flash of fear pass over the little boy's face the stranger raised his hand slightly, "Don't worry son, it's fine, you're safe here. Just was surprised you were awake, was starting to worry." The man moved with a pronounced limp, a rough, wooden cane helped him reach the worn chair across from the fire.

Sherlock watched the man, studied him; he wasn't as tall as his father, but was taller than his brother, he had dark, sandy-blond hair that only just appeared to be graying like his father's. The man's face was lined, but not as much as his father's, but his blue eyes were sadder. "Who are you?" the boy finally asked.

"I'm the Captain," the man said, a small smile crossing his face.

Sherlock's forehead crinkled curiously, "The Captain of what?"

A soft chuckle escaped, "Just the Captain, and you're Sherlock Holmes."

Now slight surprised flickered on the child's face, "How did you know that?"

"That's not important right now," Leaning forward the Captain looked at the boy before him, "Now the important question is how are you feeling?"

It took a moment before Sherlock responded, no one but Mycroft had ever asked him that question, then a sudden, terrifying memory flashed in his mind, "Mycroft…where is my brother?...father…I ran…I was so scared…" the boy's body began shaking, the Captain was quickly on his knees in front of the child, gently taking his shoulders.

"Listen to me Sherlock, you need to slow down, you need to breathe, okay…just slow down," the Captain's calm voice seemed to filter through the younger boy's panicked mind. "Now tell me what you remember."

"Mycroft," hiccups came between words as Sherlock tried to organize his scrambled memories, "Mycroft was angry, trying to tell them there wasn't anything wrong with me, they didn't want to listen, no one wants to listen about me, but Mycroft does. He's the only one, but he was trying to get them to see and father…" Sherlock began shaking again, the Captain instinctively wrapped his arms around the small boy, pulling him into his lap and rocking slightly, the child surprisingly curling into the man's well-worn jumper. "Father was so angry, he knocked Mycroft down, it was all my fault, because of me Mycroft is hurt and he will hate me now too." Quiet sobs punctuated the end of the child's ramble.

"Shhh, it's okay," the Captain whispered into the child's dark, curly hair, "Trust me, there is nothing you could do to make your brother hate you. You haven't done anything wrong and believe me your brother cares for you very much." The man looked into the fire before him, could feel the child calming in his arms. "Your father loves you too, but like your brother has told you, you are a very special young man and people who don't understand that can become scared and frustrated, you and your brother will help them see that there is nothing wrong with you, you just have a unique gift Sherlock and you have to help people understand that gift."

"Mycroft talks like that," The child looked up at the kind, calming face of the man whose lap he was occupying, "He tells me people call me names or ignore me because they don't understand and if they don't understand something it makes them afraid of it, that doesn't make since?" the boy's expression changed to one of being perplexed, "Why would they be afraid of something they didn't understand, would it not be better to try and understand it, than be afraid of it?"

"Wow," the Captain said, "you really do understand way more than anyone could possibly guess."

An almost bashful looked crossed Sherlock's face at the man's comment, "Mycroft tells me I'll be a great man when I get big," A small shrug followed that comment, "I just want to learn, I want to watch and learn about everything and everyone. People are interesting and boring all at the same time, like you."

Now it was the Captain's turn to look perplexed, "how do you mean?"

Leaning back to get a better look at the man, Sherlock spoke almost hesitantly, "you try to look cheerful, but your eyes are really sad, like you have been hurt and don't want anyone else to see. You surround yourself with sen…sent…" Sherlock was trying to come up with the right word he was looking for.

"Sentimental" the Captain offered.

Nodding Sherlock continued, "Sentimental things, like the quilt. Someone special to you made it, it's old, but you take care of it, replacing missing stitches, patching any holes with material close to the first one. This room is small, I didn't know room could be this small…" The child looked around a moment, his closet in his room was bigger than this room, but somehow he liked this room so much more than any room at his own house, except for maybe his brother's room, "but it's warm and it feels safe, like you." The last words were whispered.

The Captain chuckled softly, "you think I feel safe and warm?" a small nod against his chest was all he felt as the child refused to meet his eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Where is Mycroft?" Sherlock's smaller voice broke the comfortable silence.

"He's waiting on you." The Captain replied.

"Is he angry?" Another slight tremor filled the child's voice.

"He's not angry. He's worried and he's scared, but definitely not angry." The older man said softly.

"Mycroft is the only one that cares about me, I just want others to care, to not call me names. I just want them to accept me. Mycroft says my brain works different that's all…" Sherlock again looked up at the kind blue eyes, "Will anyone else ever care for me?"

The Captain's heart ached for the small boy, no child this young should fear not being cared about, not being loved and accepted. Clearing his throat he spoke words of such assurance that he wanted the child to never again doubt people would be there for him when he needed them to be, "Sherlock, your brother loves you very much. He is helping your parents to see you again and they will come to understand you, maybe not how you see things or exactly how you think, but they will see you as the unique, gifted person you are and you will help them try to understand. It may take other's longer to accept you as you are, but as we said people are sometimes fearful of what they don't understand, but you must never give up trying and one day…" the Captain tore his gaze from the child's blue-gray eyes and again focused on the fire, "one day Sherlock you will meet a few people who, though they may not completely understand you, they will accept you and love you for the amazing person you are. There will be one very special person, who more than anyone else will be there for you, will do anything to protect you. There will be individuals before those special people who will make you want to shut out everyone, but you need to watch for these people, especially the one. Your brother will help you see who they are, you will need to let them into your world Sherlock, and when you do nothing will seem impossible. Do you understand?"

"I think so" Sherlock's small voice responded. Even though he was so young, he completely understood what the man was saying. A warm, contented feeling settled into the young child's soul for the first time he could ever remember, he felt hope that he wouldn't always be alone. "Can I see Mycroft now?" the boy was suddenly so very sleepy, again leaning heavily against the chest of this unusually safe feeling stranger, his mind slowly drifting away, back to the dancing flame as it played across the charred log.

The Captain wrapped his arms around the quilt covered child, "When you wake up those who care the most about you will be waiting for you, rest now little one, you're safe now." The room slowly faded, but the warmth from it remained wrapped around the form lying in the hospital bed as his hand slowly curled around that of another's.

 _A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been following along with my first dive into the Sherlock universe. This story is nearing an end, one more chapter to go._


	9. Chapter 9

Brothers

Disclaimer: See chapter one

 _A/N: Thank you for all who have kept up with this endeavor, I have so many more Sherlock ideas rolling in my head and the support I've gotten from this story has been wonderful. That being said, I hope you all find this chapter a worthy conclusion. As any write knows a story or a chapter can seemingly take on a life of it's own. That is what happened with this chapter. The idea formed and exploded into this. I've done this type of recall story before in another fandom and once I started it just seemed to flow. I know this may not be the conclusion many of you were hoping for, but I felt it left some possibilities open for future revisits. This started as a Mycroft/Sherlock sibling story and I felt I kept true to that direction, especially with it being more of Mycroft's point of things. That being said, please don't hate me if it didn't end the way you thought, just know this is the images that filled my head as my fingers traversed the keyboard. Again thank you for the support, until next time-Montez_

Chapter 9

John watched the man in the chair across from him, after a few minutes he rubbed his eyes, God he was tired. Not since those endless days in Afghanistan has the former Army doctor been so exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotional exhausted. Yet no matter how exhausted he felt his heart ached for the man in the chair, a man who looked far worse than John could possibly feel.

The very first time John had met Mycroft Holmes, it was when the man had tried to intimate him, tried to use that ingrained fear everyone has when being confronted by a person who seems to know so much about them and their movements, while that person knew nothing of the person in front of them. But John was a soldier, he had learned long ago to not show fear and his father had taught him to not be intimated by anyone, especially if they were wearing an expensive suit and giving off an air of unapproachable authority and Mycroft had radiated that feeling in waves.

Mycroft had called John's 'bravery' a 'kinder word for stupidity', but John didn't see himself as brave, he had always just done what was right and what needed to be done, when it needed to be done. John had discovered on later meetings with the seemingly powerful brother of his best friend the man gave him a well-hidden look of respect. Whether it was because the ex-Army Captain wasn't intimated by him or that he refused to even hear a price to sell out Sherlock to a then unknown stranger, but he felt he was on steady ground with the man, even when other's close to Sherlock were not.

That is why looking at him now John would never believe it was the same man he met so long ago in a darkened warehouse, the proper, not a hair out of place, always composed Mycroft Holmes. No, the man before him now was as close to broken as a person could be without shattering into a million pieces. His hair was disheveled from his hands nervously running through it, his normally immaculate suit jacket had been lost many days ago along with his tie and ever present umbrella. The man's trousers were wrinkled from several days wear and his dress shirt untucked, top two buttons undone, a true testament to the fear and stress the last several days had brought.

As he continued to watch the man dosing in the chair across from him his mind went back to the heartbreaking memories that had brought them to this point. John had been on the other side of London when he got the first call, it had been Lastrade stating that somehow Sherlock had gone missing while investing a crime scene with them, one minute he was there, he received a text and disappeared. The older man had called, texted, and searched but the younger Holmes had seemly vanished. John was at a loss, he had not heard from his flat-mate/friend since they had both left that morning, Watson heading to work at the surgery and Sherlock heading to Lastrade's office to look over old case files, he had been bored and John had threatened to bin all his experiments if he didn't get out of the flat for the day.

Watson assured the Detective Inspector he would try and locate his wayward friend and get back in touch as soon as he knew something. John had learned long ago that regardless of what he was doing Sherlock would respond to texts from him, even if he was ignoring everyone else. So he sent a quick text and waited, and waited, and waited. Twenty minutes passed with nothing, something in his gut twisted as he let the nurse in reception know he needed to step out, a personal emergency. Everyone at the surgery knew what that meant and his patients were reassigned. Heading out to grab a cab back to the flat incase Sherlock had gotten bored with Lastrade and decided to test John's own patience when he finally got home, he was met by a familiar black vehicle pulling up outside the office.

Rolling his eyes he reached for the door, speaking before he even got in, "Mycroft, this is getting…" but his words cut off when instead of Mycroft Holmes sitting in the back it was a very agitated looking Anthea, the ever-present Holmes personal assistant. The knot that had formed in his gut after Greg's call only tightened to an almost nauseating level upon seeing the young woman's destressed face. "What happened?" that no non-sense former Captain's voice taking over.

The woman took a deep breath as if trying to compose herself, something John had never though the woman needed to do, she seemed as unshakable as Mycroft himself, "Honestly we don't know".

"What do you mean you don't know, where is Mycroft? Has something happened to Sherlock? What's happened that's got YOU rattled?" John was done playing games, something was terribly wrong with this whole picture and he needed to know what it was.

"Mr. Holmes received a text about two hours ago, he said he was stepping out. When I moved to go with him, he said he needed to go alone. He wouldn't tell me what the text was, nor where he was going. I know all his movements, I know where he is at all times, but…" Another shaking breath was drawn.

"But what?" John's harsh tone actually made the young woman jump, normally he would have felt bad about that, but not this time.

"Twenty minutes after walking out the door, Mr. Holmes disappeared." Something in the woman's eyes was almost begging John to fix this.

"What exactly…" John brought his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to get his baring's, trying to shake the almost fear he saw in Anthea's face. "What exactly do you mean he disappeared? Mycroft doesn't seem like the type of man to just disappear. He's got the whole bloody country at his disposal and you are telling me no one knows where he is?"

"We have had every agency searching files, every camera in the city of London is being watched, and yes I mean every single one of them. The last image we have of him is meeting with his brother and then nothing." Anthea seemed to be starting to calm since John had gotten in the car.

"Wait a minute, Sherlock was with him? Both of them have disappeared? And you are just telling me this NOW?" John was getting angry again, damn people and their secret ways of doing things.

"We know DI Lastrade called to inform you about Sherlock's disappearance from the crime scene…" John interrupted the woman.

"I just got that call before you picked me up, but you are telling me you've known he was gone for at least two hours and I'm just hearing about this…Jesh, you people are something else," He shook his head, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Who are you contacting?" She asked nervously.

"I'm texting Lastrade, where are you taking me? I want him to meet us there so we can figure out what the hell is going on." John pulled the DI's number.

"This needs to stay between us and those who need to know. If word got out the Mycroft Holmes was missing do you know what…" She was stopped by the hard, angry look John was giving her.

"I DON'T care what would happen, I DON'T care about need to know, I CARE about finding my friends and I don't care what agencies you have on the case, I want Greg here now, do you understand?"

With a slight nod from the woman across from him he watched her knock on the glass between the driver and passenger compartment before the car made an abrupt left turn, "Tell him we will be there to pick him up in ten minutes", with that a tense silence settled over the car as it made its way toward New Scotland Yards.

The memories became a blur after that, hours seemed like minutes, while minutes seemed like days. John and Greg were thrown into a world of surveillance unlike they ever fathomed existed, planes had been grounded until thoroughly checked, all ways in and out of the country were tediously monitored. It had been nearly twelve hours since all hell had quietly broken loose within the British Government and every single resource was employed to find the missing Holmes siblings who had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth.

John and Greg had stepped out of the inconspicuous office building that housed everything needed to track anyone, anywhere. How they were give the few minutes alone was amazing as Anthea had practically stayed glued to John's side. If the situation had been different he would have chuckled as to how she seemed to follow him much like she did Mycroft, but he knew it was for completely different purposes. With Mycroft it was her job to anticipate what he needed and relay any and all orders and objectives the man deemed necessary, but with John she wanted to keep an eye on him, knowing he could possible take off on his own much like Sherlock was known to do when things weren't going his way. So when John saw the opportunity to get a minute alone, he grabbed Greg's arm and they slipped from the chaotic room.

Looking around the darkened city street everything still moved forward, unaware of the chaos the disappearance of two men was causing, "What the hell is going on?" Greg asked, his own mind still reeling from the last twelve hours and a glimpse of the world behind Mycroft Holmes's door. "There has been nothing, no demands, no proof that anyone has them, nothing."

Before John could respond his phone rang, Greg watching him, "its Mrs. Hudson, God I never called to tell her what was going on." John's guilt and worry clear on his face when he answered, "Mrs. Hudson, is everything…"

Before he could answer all the color drained from his face as he started running toward the corner trying to flag down a cab, Greg right behind, never hearing what the older woman was saying, "Oh John…please…Sherlock…"

Both men climbed into the cab, John frantically trying to get the hysterical woman calm, "Mrs. Hudson are you at the flat?" with a nod to Greg the older man shouted the address to the cabbie and told him to break whatever traffic laws he needed after flashing his badge. "Mrs. Hudson, I need you to listen…" Closing his eye's he tried to speak calmly, "Sherlock is there yes, is Mycroft with him?" John's mind screamed at him to hurry up, but he was at the mercy of the cabbie and London traffic.

"Oh John, please…they…" the woman was so distraught she couldn't get her words out, but John had heard 'they' in her rambling, another nod told Greg that Mycroft was there too, but they had no way of knowing what shape the men were in as Mrs. Hudson couldn't get anything coherent across.

"Mrs. Hudson, we're here, I'm coming in now." Pocketing his phone he pulled his keys out, stopping the temptation of kicking in the door to get in faster.

The older woman met them in the hall, shaking worse than John could ever imagine, "The kitchen, they're in the kitchen."

Both men rushed through the narrow hall and upon reaching the kitchen they saw a sight that would haunt their nightmares for years to come. Just inside the backdoor, his back to the corner sat a pale, wet, mud, and blood covered Mycroft Holmes, his body visibly shaking even from across the room, his head down, his voice mumbling softly, "I've got you little brother…I've got you", to a deathly still, wet, mud, and blood covered Sherlock.

John tossed his phone at Lastrade, "Call Anthea, she'd be here by now if she knew they were here". He didn't pay attention to Greg stepping back into the sitting room, calling the PA while trying to calm a hysterical landlady. No, John slowly made his way across the kitchen, trying to look both men over for injuries, he could see a few scrapes and bruises across Mycroft's face, his shirt was filthy, but clear signs of blood were visible, Watson just didn't know if it was his or Sherlock's. Looking quickly at his best friend John's heart nearly stopped, he looked dead, there was no noticeable movement from the younger man until the doctor was less than a meter away, then he saw the hitched, slow rise and fall of Sherlock's chest. Relief his friends were alive was only given a moment's pause as the fact Mycroft hadn't acknowledged his presence finally hit him, "Mycroft?" the older man didn't acknowledge the doctor kneeling so close, John was reluctant to touch the him, not wanting to startle him, especially when he didn't know how bad the man was injured.

"I've got you little brother…" Was mumbled again and John's heart nearly broke right there. These two men were imposing figures when at the top of their respective games and that lead John to sometimes forget they were brothers. They had grown up together, had their own form of sibling rivalry, but John had observed on those rare occasions the fact that both men cared a great deal for one another, though they hid it well. But the voice that John heard was not that of Mycroft Holmes, a man who held a 'minor position in the British Government', no this was Mycroft Holmes, the big brother who was desperately clinging to his little brother, pleading for him to hear that his brother was there, that he had him, that he would protect him.

"Mycroft…" Watson whispered again, and if Mycroft's voice hadn't nearly broken him, the man's pleading expression did.

"John?" The older man seemed confused, not sure who was in front of him.

"I'm here Mycroft, can you tell me what happened? Where are you hurt?" John said softly, moving even closer he saw the older man's breath hitched, tears filling the elder Holmes's eyes.

"Please John…" Greg had stepped back into the room knowing the cavalry was on the way, he froze at the sound of Mycroft's voice, "Please John, save him…" with that the older man's eyes rolled back, his body listing, John's quick reflex's easing his decent to the floor, a hand going quickly to the older man's neck, a slow, unsteady pulse was felt as Watson looked up at Lastrade just as Anthea and company rushed into the flat.

A blur of activity filled the small kitchen as John was unceremoniously pulled away from his friends and a swarm of medics descended on the unconscious siblings. "Did he say anything to you?" Anthea's tight voice asked, her fingers flying over the small keypad of her mobile.

"Save him…that's all Mycroft said." John and Greg watched as both men were quickly assessed, the backdoor pulled open with two gurneys ready just outside the doorway to take the men to a private medical facility.

John moved to follow his friends out, but the young woman's hand stopped him, "You and the Detective Inspector will ride with me." She quickly turned knowing both men would follow.

They arrived just moments behind the ambulances, but the scene that greeted them was pure chaos, Mycroft, the man John had last seen unconscious on Mrs. Hudson's kitchen floor now had a terrified physician pinned to the wall, none of the older man's security detail was attempting to help the young doctor, none of them appeared to have ever seen the placid man suddenly become violent. John quickly pushed his way through, Greg right behind, "MYCROFT!" John called out as he reached the man, grabbing his arms, forcefully pulling him back. The elder Holmes continued to fight until John's voice finally registered, "MYCROFT STOP!"

The smaller man wasn't prepared for the fight to leave the man all at once as his back hit the wall a few feet behind him and both Mycroft and John slide to the ground, the whole room froze, except Lastrade, "Well don't just stand there, help him" the officer moved to help the young doctor while two other physicians moved toward John and Mycroft. Noting the look of panic that flashed over the older man's face Greg turned, "Everyone out, except you two…" He pointed to the two doctor's approaching the men on the floor.

"Now, wait…" Anthea seemed to find her voice and turned to the DI.

"No, I'm calling the shots right now, you can stay but everyone else out until we get the situation under control." With the young woman's nod the room cleared out, Mycroft's personal security stationing themselves just outside the door.

Lastrade focused his attention back on John and Mycroft, "Hold up guys…" John had the doctor's step back for a moment as tremors again overtook the older man's body, "Mycroft, can you hear me?" It would have been impossible for the man to not hear Watson as the doctor practically had Holmes pulled back against his chest.

The clouded expression seemed to fade from the dark eyes, his head dropped slightly, "John?" the level of confusion Watson kept observing was terrifying.

"I'm here Mycroft…I need you to listen okay, these men are here to help, will you let them help you?" John still had no idea what had happened to his best friend and his best friend's brother, but whatever had happened had somehow traumatized the older man.

"Where is Sherlock? Where is my brother?" Mycroft asked pleadingly.

John looked at Anthea who knelt a few feet from her employer, the doctor noted again the young woman's composure was slipping, "Sir, your brother is being treated in the next room."

She watched as the man looked at her, but didn't seem to recognize her at first, "He's safe?"

The PA glanced at John looking as lost as John felt, he tried to nod reassuringly, her steadying voice responded, "Yes sir, your brother is safe now."

A veil seemed to settle over Mycroft's expression, his body nearly going lax in the doctor's arms. "Mycroft, can we help you now?" John asked softly. A nod was their only response as the doctor's moved in, helping the man up and to the bed while Greg helped John to his feet.

"What the hell was that?" Lastrade asked quietly, watching as the medical team slowly moved in to assess their high-value patient.

"I don't know", John watched as Mycroft wordlessly complied, his gaze far away, no doubt replaying what had brought them to this point. "I'm going to see if I can find out about Sherlock." John looked at Anthea, "Greg stays with him no matter where he goes, do you understand?"

"Yes", at this point the assistant was willing to comply with any of Dr. Watson's request with regards to her boss.

That had been five days ago, Sherlock was in a coma suffering a blow to the head, a gunshot wound and severe hypothermia from ending up in the Thames in an attempt to get away from his and his brother's would be kidnappers. Mycroft's injuries were minor in comparison, moderate hypothermia, a mild concussion, and a few lacerations and contusions. The older man had yet to explain exactly what had happened to them, only that if it wasn't for Sherlock's connections in the homeless community both men would have never made it back to Baker Street.

The silent vigil was broken by Mycroft's unusually hoarse voice, "I prayed I would never be here again."

John straighten up in his seat, "Mycroft?"

Exhausted eyes met John's, "Sitting beside my comatose brother", the confused look on John's face encouraged Mycroft to continue, his hand snaking up to take his brother's. "We were children, Sherlock was only six…he didn't speak until he was five and a half years old, then he would only talk to me. Everyone thought there was something wrong with him, he was so quiet, and always watching everyone and everything." The older Holmes took a deep breath, looking toward the ceiling a moment before his gaze settled back on his brother, "even our parents thought he was 'broken' somehow, they had pulled away from him. Sherlock was not an affectionate child, so our mother pulled away, our father didn't know how to handle the 'unnaturalness' of Sherlock's behavior, all other's avoided him, giving him sad, pitiful looks thinking the whole time that he didn't understand. But oh he understood far more than anyone could imagine." A sad, barely there smile crossed Mycroft's face recalling the day he had learned just how much everyone had truly underestimated his little brother's level of u

John watched an array of emotions cross Mycroft's face, but didn't make a sound, getting a rare insight to the inner workings of the Holmes siblings. "I found him crying outside our parent's room one night, he had terrible insomnia, even as a child, but no one realized it. I only discovered it by accident. He would wonder the house at night, that night our parents could be heard 'discussing' Sherlock's 'issues'. When I found him he latched onto me and cried, upon taking him back to my room he spoke for the first time, expressing fear that our parents were going to send him away, not understanding why no one seemed to care about him. I eventually got the courage to talk to my parent's, to explain to them how Sherlock thought, how he felt. He was still only interacting with me, they had no idea he could even talk. Needless to say the conversation between a thirteen year old and his parents didn't go as I had hoped and our father, seeing my comments as disrespectful struck me." John saw Mycroft close his eyes at the memory, his hand subconsciously coming up to his right cheek. John's own father had been stern, but loving, he had never struck his children out of anger, apparently the Senior Holmes was nothing like Watson's father.

"Sherlock inadvertently witnessed it, he…" The older man moved forward some in his chair, his hand going to the top of his brother's head, smoothing the unruly curls, that days of inattention had left, "he ran, he ran to the best hiding spot he could find," Mycroft looked up at John, the memory from so long ago clearly playing on his aged face, "there was a forest on the edge of our family's estate, it was early March, winter still held a tenuous grip…it was hours before I found him."

John couldn't hold his comment, "You found him? Was no one else looking?"

"The whole village was searching, but only I realized where he had gone and I was the one who had to find him. He thought I was the only one that cared and I had to protect him." His gaze returning to his brother, "I thought he was dead when I finally found him, it had been hours and he didn't have a coat, it was freezing…just like…" Holmes's voice trailed off.

"Mycroft, what happened?" The older man had said nothing of the night the siblings disappeared.

"I was trying to protect him, but he ended up protecting me." A tear slipped free, his hand tightening on his little brothers. "We both received a text the other was in trouble, an address was given, and we were both told to come alone. Our relationship may be strained but we will still do whatever needs to be done to protect the other, even if it means walking into a trap, which we clearly did."

"An abandoned industrial area near the river was so unoriginal, but no less affective. However our kidnappers sorely underestimated us. Separately I have to say we are formidable opponents, but having us together was our captors mistake as we are a force to be reckoned with at least until…" the older man shuttered, "He saw the gun before I did, we were backed up near a dock, I never heard the gunshot as I hit the water. I felt him enter the water behind me, but I didn't realize what had happened until I surfaced and I couldn't find him. He hit his head on the dock as he entered the water, it felt like forever before I found him, by then our captors were gone and we were being carried down river by the strong current. I struggled to keep him above the water, I couldn't even tell…" A shaky breath escaped, "I couldn't even tell if he was breathing. I finally got him to the bank, it was then I saw…" Closing his eyes he took a deep breath remembering finding the bullet wound, a wound Sherlock had received trying to protect him. "I'm not sure how long we were on that bank, all I could see was that broken little boy I found in the woods that night, the cold, the darkness…all I could think was I needed to protect him, I needed to save him."

"How did you get to Baker Street?" John asked.

"A dreadful looking young man approached us, I just pulled Sherlock closer. I knew I was in no shape to defend either one of us as the cold and the injuries from our fight were taking over my body. As he got closer he knelt down and pointed, asking if it was Sherlock. I barely remember acknowledging the man's inquiry, but before I knew what was going on, the young man called out and several people quickly approached. I still can't recall how they got us from the river to Mrs. Hudson's back door, all I know is they are the ones who saved us that night. I don't recall you arriving or us arriving here, only what Anthea has tried to explain, but I didn't want to listen…I needed to make sure he was all right and he's not…I was ready to die with him when we were children, to protect him wherever he would have gone, and now…" The older man's voice faded, John knew at that moment that again the older brother was willing to give up everything to protect his little brother and that thought terrified him.

Silence settled over the room. John silently prayed that the world wouldn't be losing two of the most extraordinary and infuriating people he had ever met. That pray was answered when Mycroft gasped, Watson noting the tightening of Sherlock's hand on his brother's as muffled, broken words that finally brought life back to the room, "My…oft…Cap…n…said…you…be…wa…ting."


End file.
